Keeping Promises
by darcyfarrow
Summary: Sequel to "The Name Bond." As he grows up, Prince Neal has his own guardian Dark One to protect him. And then one day he repays the favor. Fluff wrapped in angst.


**A/N. With apologies: the angst got away from me.**

* * *

><p>When he was three, he wandered away from Mommy in the grocery store and got hopelessly lost between the canned vegetables and the dog food aisles. He was so scared he couldn't remember his Mommy's name, but something deep inside him made him cry out a name he could barely pronounce. In a cloud of smoke a man appeared, dropped to one knee and opened his arms, and Neal, recognizing the man, ran sobbing to him. "Where's Mommy? I want Mommy!"<p>

"Shh, princeling, you're all right. I've got you," the man said. "Here, climb on." Neal scrambled onto the man's back, clutching him around the neck, and the man reached back to secure the child's ankles about his waist before striding out from the sacks of Purina. The boy forgot to be scared and instead clucked his tongue. "Giddyap, horsie."

"And where shall the horsie take Prince Neal today, eh? To the tournaments for a joust? To Camelot, to meet King Arthur?"

"To Mommy," the prince decided. "She's scared without me."

"And so it shall be." And the man kept his promise.

* * *

><p>When Neal was six, his father taught him how to ride a bicycle. In return for a birthday bike, Neal promised to ride only on the sidewalk and around the block, but when some older boys teased him–"Your father must be a rooster, because you're a chicken!"–he rode out into the street. He felt so bold and so free, pedaling as fast as his legs could pump, that he forgot what the red light meant and careened down the hill without looking both ways. There was a horrible screech as a big white van loomed in front of him. Horns honked and people on the sidewalk shouted, but the van skidded and kept coming at him. He was so scared he couldn't remember how to work the brakes, but something inside him remembered a name and he shrieked it at the top of his lungs: "Rumplestiltskin! Rumplestiltskin!"<p>

The next thing he knew, his bike was flying through the air, with him still pumping the pedals frantically. The bike crashed down on Ms. Ginger's lawn, flattening her petunia bed and striking her lawn gnome, sending it flying until it smashed against Mr. Shoemaker's mailbox. When the bike hit the ground, his butt collided with its seat; his tailbone cracked, he fell and the bike fell on top of him. But Rumplestiltskin picked him up, enveloped him in healing magic, and the pain and the fear subsided. "Shh, princeling, you're all right. I've got you. "

"Fix my bike?" Neal pleaded, rubbing his tailbone. The Schwinn's front tire twisted sickly.

The man prodded the heap of metal with his foot. "I think not. The loss of the bike is a fitting price for the lesson you got today, wouldn't you agree?"

Neal didn't agree, but he didn't argue. He was going to be in enough trouble with Mom and Dad; he didn't need Rumple mad at him too.

* * *

><p>When he was eleven, Neal was NASCAR crazy. His bedroom was plastered with posters of Dale Earnhardt's '88 Chevy S-10, Chad Knaus' '72 Camero and Joey Logano's '39 Rat Rod. While his father dreamed of Neal someday becoming a doctor, Neal dreamed of winning the Daytona 500. So one night when his parents were asleep, Neal swiped Mom's car keys from the kitchen hook and snuck out to the garage. He didn't intend to actually shift the gears (though he knew how), but he figured he could fire up the ignition on Mom's Corolla (lame though it was). He just needed to feel the rumble of an engine through the steering wheel, just for a minute. Gods, it felt good, that power. He let his right hand rest on the gear shift, just rest there, not actually moving, well, moving it just a little, for pretend. . . .then for real, just once, and his foot slipped off the brake and the car jerked forward, crashing into the garbage cans.<p>

The Corolla sputtered. Neal yanked at the key to turn the engine off.

"Ah, ah, princeling, isn't that enough excitement for one night?" A hand slapped his away and deftly turned the key, silencing the car. Neal looked over to the passenger seat, where Rumplestiltskin scowled at him. Having Rumplestiltskin scowl at you was even more frightening than demolishing Mom's car, and Neal began to cry.

The next thing he knew, Rumplestiltskin had the driver's door open and was pulling him out, then pulling him into a hug. "Shh, princeling, you're all right. I've got you."

"You don't have to tell them, do you? You can fix the car with magic so they'll never know."

Rumplestiltskin's scowl deepened. "No, princeling, _I_ don't have to tell them."

Neal hung his head, understanding the unspoken half of that sentence. "Will you come with me? They're going to be mad."

"Wouldn't you be, if it was your car?" Rumplestiltskin returned the keys to him and gestured to the house. He made Neal walk ahead, but he followed, standing behind him as he knocked on his parents' bedroom door. He remained silent while Neal made his confession. "There are some things a man has to do by himself," he explained later. "You can work in my shop on weekends until you've paid the damages."

"You could've used magic to fix everything," Neal complained. "Then I wouldn't have to miss the races on TV. I thought you were supposed to look out for me."

"Protect you from harm, dearie, not from responsibility. There's a difference."

Neal worked off his debt, though it took every Saturday for four months to do it. He gave Rumplestiltskin the silent treatment the whole time.

* * *

><p>When Neal was eighteen, he attended his first kegger at a frat he was pledging. Sick to his stomach, he vomited on his shoes and got lost in the football stadium. He shouted at the moon for his guardian devil.<p>

As promised, Rumplestiltskin leaped down from the goalpost and transported him back to the pink house, where he took Neal by the collar and dragged him into the bathroom, then shoved him, still fully clothed, into the shower and turned on the spray. "Stay there until you're sober," he growled, and though the water was cold, Neal obeyed. When he finally emerged, soaked to the bone and shivering, Rumple threw a towel and a pair of pajamas at him. "Dry off, then meet me in the kitchen, if you can stay on your feet long enough to walk there." He vanished in a puff of magic.

Neal dressed and dragged himself to the kitchen, where Rumple was sitting at the table and scowling. When Neal gingerly drew out a chair to sit down, Rumple shoved a tumbler of water and a bottle of aspirin at him. "Here. You need to stay hydrated."

Still half-drunk, Neal swallowed two tablets and drank the entire tumbler of water; he didn't want to disappoint Rumplestiltskin any more than he already had. Silently, Rumple poured him a second glass of water.

"Oh, don't do that, don't give the silent treatment," Neal moaned. "Like you're ashamed of me or something. You're no angel either."

"No, I'm not."

"Don't give that 'You're the son of Prince Charming and Snow White; they expect better from you' crap. I've heard it all my life from my teachers and the nuns. You're the Dark One. You should get it, why I have to cut loose sometimes. A man's got to be his own man, right?"

"A man's got to be a man," Rumplestilskin amended. "Not a brat. Drink the water."

"Are you gonna tell my–never mind. You're gonna make me do it." Neal stood up and the room started spinning, but before he could fall, Rumplestiltskin had an arm around his shoulders and was leading him to the sink. "Don't throw up on my table, boy. Belle and I eat here."

He was a full head taller and forty pounds heavier than the scrawny old man, but as Rumple patted his back while Neal retched, the college boy felt small. After Neal rinsed his mouth, Rumple handed him a towel. "I'll come back tomorrow and wash all these towels I'm using up."

"And scrub out the sink. You want me to drive you back to the frat house, or do you want to go home?"

"I don't want Mom to see me like this." Neal's head was pounding. "Oh gods. I'll never drink again."

"That may be a bit rash," Rumplestiltskin said. "Next time, perhaps you'll do it better."

"Better?"

"Smarter."

Neal wheeled about, grabbed the edge of the sink and lost another round to his stomach. He began to moan. Rumple rubbed his back, saying, "Shh, princeling, it's all right. I've got you."

"You always do."

"But that doesn't give you license to act like an idiot."

Neal moaned.

* * *

><p>"Rumplestiltskin, I need you."<p>

"Of course, Neal. Come in. Sit down. Cup of coffee?"

The Dark One looked considerably older than when Neal had seen him last, and smaller behind the big mahogany desk. Or maybe it was just that Storybrooke had gotten smaller in the years Neal had been away. Neal entered Rumplestiltskin's study and sat down in a chair across from him.

"Congratulations, by the way, on completing your residency."

"Thanks." Neal crossed his legs, looking around. He felt comfortable here, even in the Dark One's den. Very few people made it past the front door of the pink house, but Neal had come and gone freely over the years. He'd always been welcome. "Place looks the same."

"I'm an old man," Rumple explained. "I don't like my stuff moved around."

"I need a favor."

"Of course."

"Will you come with me to Mom and Dad's? To back me up, like you used to. I have some news they're going to get upset about."

"What is it?"

"They were always counting on me to come back here when I finished my training, to work at Storybrooke General."

"But?"

"It's a big world out there."

"It is."

"I'm not going to be that far away, just Boston, but there are opportunities there I won't get here. So will you come with me when I tell them? Please? I just can't stand to see Mom cry."

"I'll go with you."

"I hate to do this to them, but I need to take my shot, you know?"

"I know."

"Am I doing the right thing? Am I running out on my responsibility to the town?"

"Your parents will understand. You have to take your best chance."

"I just don't know how to tell them without breaking Mom's heart."

"Shh, you're all right, Neal. I've got you."

* * *

><p>Dr. Neal Nolan shooed the nurses away, then dragged a straight chair over to the hospital bed in which his patient struggled, around wires and monitors, to sit up. "Hey."<p>

"Hey," the patient answered. "Can I go home now?"

"I want to keep you overnight for observation."

"I'm an old man, Neal. Nothing to observe, unless you get a kick out of watching a guy drool in his sleep."

"Just for tonight."

The old man thought for a moment. "You know, I used to be immortal, back in the Enchanted Forest. But magic works differently here."

"I can give you something for the pain."

"Just give me back my suit. These paper gowns leave nothing to the imagination."

"I can do that," Neal chuckled.

Rumplestiltskin grinned wryly, then scowled. "Listen, there's something else you can do."

"What's that?"

"Be with me when I tell Belle. I. . . I've always been a coward, you know."

Neal reached an arm around the Dark One's shoulders. "I'll be there."

And when a wave of pain caused the old man to double over and cry out, the doctor held him steady and said, "Shh, old friend, it's all right. I've got you."


End file.
